


The Spirit Girl — Banal nadas.

by Miss_Snazzy



Series: Banal nadas— as they say. [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consensual Possession, Deception, Dissociation, Dorks, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Magic Mirrors, Meticulous Character, Misunderstandings, Modern Girl in Thedas, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Secret Identity, Spirits, Spoilers, Trolling, all the references, but also not really, but not really, cursing, foresight, gratuitous pop culture references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-25 10:58:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3807829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Snazzy/pseuds/Miss_Snazzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've made you sad. I didn't mean to.  I don't always get it right.  But I can help."  </p><p>Aww, he sounds so earnest.  She wants to smoosh his cheeks a little.  Maybe even blow a raspberry.  No, that'd be too weird.</p><p>"Cole—"</p><p>"Will...smooshing...my cheeks make you feel better?"</p><p>"Oh my god."</p><p>...</p><p>Helena's closet door is pulling a bit of a Narnia on her and now she's in Thedas.<br/>She's played the game, she knows how this ends.<br/>She also knows that she might be stepping on quite a few butterflies by being there.<br/>But when life gives you a chance for adventure—a real, magical adventure—how can you say no?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mirror, Mirror

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Overloaded](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3487133) by [salesman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salesman/pseuds/salesman). 



The tale of _Dragon Age Inquisition_ ends and the credits begin to roll.

"Huh."

Her gaze traces the names, but they register more as shapes than words. She sits through the smooth slide, her hands still clasped around her gold controller. Her roommate must have been eating while playing because one of the buttons had started sticking. God, her roommate. Wasn't it enough that she did the dishes week after week, scrubbed the toilet, and took out the trash? Could a little respect for her things be so much to ask for?

"I live with a goddamn rat," she grumbles to herself. And not the good kind. Living with Charlie Kelley would probably drive her to madness, but at least he was the adorable kind of trash baby. Her roommate reserves all her cleanliness for work. Stingy bitch. Her brand of adorableness certainly doesn't make up for the gnats.

Her attention focuses in at the first mention of the voice actors, eager to spot Solas. The slow slide seems to have sped up because she can't remember the names of any of them once they pass beyond the screen. She groans at her failure, glancing at her alarm clock.

"Only ten?"

She had finished the game much sooner than she had anticipated. Allotting four hours for what amounted to less than two hours of gameplay had been overkill. Her hesitance to lose Solas upon entering the final quest had rendered her overleveled for her battle with Play-doh face.

"Ha. Play-doh Face." She glances around her empty bedroom and spots her reflection in one of the mirrors embedded in her closet doors. "At least someone appreciates my jokes." She watches her lips slip up into a smirk.

She turns back to the screen. It takes her a few seconds to realize what's happening.

"What the fuck. Is it replaying?" She scans the names, uncertain until the list of actors starts to slide by. "Is that it? Where the fuck is my cutscene?" she whines.

She starts pressing buttons, no longer caring if one accidentally exits her out, keeping her from the final cutscene. Her guilt over her inattention toward the names of the artists involved in the game's design and production is overshadowed by her annoyance.

The names disappear after she clicks—something—and she holds her breath. When the darkness remains a beat too long, her shoulders slump. The loading icon in the corner isn't moving.

"Goddamn it," she sighs, leaning toward the console.

The tips of her fingers barely brush the power button when a spark zips up her hand.

"Motherfucking—" she hisses "—ow!"

Her attention snaps back to the television as an image begins to fade in.

"Hell yeah!" she grins in a sing-song voice. "I got my cutscene!"

She watches the scene play out between Solas and Mythal, frowning by its end. The visual suggested that Solas had pulled the power from her, but Mythal's final words seemed more indicative of her willingly leaving that body to possess him.

"That's it?" she asks, watching the throne room of Skyhold form around her Inquisitor.

She ignores her better judgment and directs her character toward the rotunda. Solas's absence doesn't surprise her, but its emptiness is rather startling.

"Right," she mumbles to herself, angling her character toward the stairs leading to the library.

She directs her character straight toward Dorian, relieved that he, at least, remains.

"It will be interesting, a Divine likely to punch heretics in the face." She frowns, still uncertain how she feels about Cassandra becoming Divine. "It will be difficult to return to Tevinter after all this. I have a good friend here. You don't find those just lying about. Such is my lot. Just a little longer then."

"Oh my god," she grins, her chest tightening when she recalls his words during the party. "Dorian is my best frieeend," she sings in a goofy voice.

Subsequent clicks on Dorian yield nothing but comments about bees. Her grin falls. Dorian has been reduced to a regular NPC.

"I think that's enough for today," she says, sighing.

She hesitates for only a second before adding a new save. She will need to go back to a previous one once she has finished checking on the rest of the companions. How could she go to that one lost Elven temple without Solas? And she still hadn't unlocked the rest of those doors in the Forbidden Oasis. Solas would probably have something interesting to say once she did.

"Oh, crap. And that time-locked rift in the Western Approach!"

How could she have forgotten about that? Those demons couldn't be harder than Play-doh Face.

She finishes logging out and shuts off her console. Her legs haven't even begun to ache yet. She climbs off her bed and stands in the middle of her room, surveying the mess of books, notebooks, and clothes. What is she supposed to do now?

Okay, so maybe the piles of clothes were getting a little out-of-hand. And she should really move that badass journal her sister had gotten her back into the bookcase. A shame she didn't have something good to put in there. That glorious piece of craftsmanship deserved the best. It would have made a killer hunter's journal.

She sighs, feeling wistful for a life she would never have. She doesn't touch the journal, opting to move toward the closet instead. Her reflection catches her attention. There's a shading under her eyes, almost making the resident bags shimmer. She watches herself rub underneath them, but when she glances at her fingers, she finds nothing. A glance at the mirror reveals that the shimmer remains. Maybe there's something on the mirror. Her roommate does like to admire herself in them.

She presses the index finger of her right hand onto the glass, but recoils when it seems to cave inward.

"Whoa!" Her hand is clenched, cradled against her chest. She holds her hand back up, uncurling her fingers. There is nothing. She reaches her hand out and touches the glass in a quick tap.

"What the..."

She glances in the eyes of her reflection, seeing only her own shock mirrored back. Its eyes aren't glowing, nor are her lips smirking. This probably isn't like _Oculus_ , but. Well. She definitely won't be eating anything in the immediate future. She presses her fingers back into the glass, staring at its caving surface for a moment before slowly pulling her hand back again.

"Okay, so, this seems to be happening," she says to her reflection, relaxing a little at the sound of her own voice.

This...this is new. And impossible. Her thoughts flit through what she knows about magic, from nine and three quarters to cursed rabbit's feet to elves with slave brandings. Meddling doesn't always end well. The hero doesn't always make it back alive. Sometimes, there isn't even a hero. Just a lonely, naive girl who was too desperate for adventure to consider the consequences.

The Doctor once compared his promise of adventure to a kid being promised sweets. So many people had died from knowing him. His brand of friendship wasn't always kind. She knew that. She also knew that if that blue box ever appeared in front of her, she wouldn't hesitate. Could this mirror be her blue box? Her call to adventure?

She surveys her room one more time before turning back to the mirror. She presses her whole hand against it this time, feeling the glass cave under her palm. Her movement through the glass gains speed as the mirror pulls her quicker than she had been pushing. It has consumed most of her arms and legs. There is nothing to grab onto, nothing on the other side, and the mirror is beginning to slide up her neck. She has a moment to panic when—

...

She gasps when her lungs allow it, when they have learned to expand again. She throws her shoulder into the roll off her back, body hunching. One hand clenches her knee and the other presses forward to support her. Her long hair has fallen forward, stifling the air further.

"What...the...fuck," she gasps, "...was...that?"

Her knees begin to ache before she can fully regain her breath. This bed offers little cushion. It definitely doesn't look like something picked up from IKEA. When she lifts her hand off the quilt, a layer of dust obscures her skin. The rest of her body must be covered in it by now, with all her rolling around.

She turns toward the rest of the room, surveying her surroundings. Planks of wood lie in half-hazard piles on the floor. Large pots rest on their sides. A painting, its canvas shredded to the point of obscurity, remains mounted on the opposite wall.

"Where the hell..." she croaks out. She rubs at her throat, but the dry ache doesn't fade. It's fine. She just needs to remain calm. Get her bearings.

She holds her breath, straining her ears to pick up any noise outside the room. Silence. Her breath slips back out at the confirmation. The bed creaks when she levers herself off and she cringes, listening. Still nothing. She concentrates on relaxing her shoulders and ignores the slight shaking of her legs as she stands, investigating the room.

"This seems real..." she whispers to herself, brushing her fingers down one of the strips of canvas. "I wasn't asleep..." she continues, focusing on the small raised lines on the back of the canvas, "...right?"

She traces her thoughts back to when she found herself gasping on that bed. Her eyes had been shut before that. No, not shut. It had just been too dark to see. But what about before that darkness?

"The mirror," she says, the volume of her voice rising above a whisper. "I'm in the mirror." Her eyes widen and her chest tightens. "Holy shit, I'm in the mirror!" she squeaks, whipping around to search the room. Everything in the room seems to be just as solid as they were before this revelation. "Mirror worlds really exist?"

Her chest feels close to bursting. Her hand darts up to her mouth, muffling the sound of her next high squeak. What does she know about mirror worlds? An image of a small, blonde girl in a nightgown staring at a mangled version of her own reflection rises to the forefront of her thoughts. Her joy dissipates.

"Wow, this could have gone so wrong," she says, disgruntled with herself. She ignores the thought that says it still could. "Seriously though...where the fuck am I?"

Another glance around the room reveals the same conclusions she had drawn during her first search. The place looks trashed, like someone just swept through it. However, the layer of dust covering the whole room remains undisturbed—barring her own meddling. Since the layer of dust conforms to the exact shape of everything in the room, that means that no one has disturbed it, and thus, the place has probably been abandoned.

She nods to herself, feeling like a regular Sherlock Holmes.

"A simple deduction, my dear Watson," she says in a superior voice, nose tilted in the air. She imagines Jenny standing beside her. She did often make a good Watson to her Sherlock, for all her trash baby behavior.

"Oh, man, I can't wait to tell her about this," she grins, her excitement faltering when her attention shifts back to the room. "Shit." Can she even get back?

Right. Well, she'll never know if she doesn't leave this room, will she?

"Please let this be an episode of Doctor Who, not Supernatural." There are two doors to this room—one on either side of the bed. She stares between them. Right or left? "A light-hearted episode of Doctor Who," she amends, stepping toward the door on the right. She realizes that she can't think of an episode that remained light-hearted throughout. In fact, a lot of people have died in that show from indulging simple curiosity. "Crap," she says, continuing to step toward the door. At least she hadn't entered that mirror in her pajamas or worse, without her bra. "Could've done with some shoes, though," she grumbles, gripping the metal ring acting as doorknob.

The heavy door expels a loud creak as she heaves it open, making her cringe. A strong breeze coaxes her hair around her face the moment she manages to widen the gap enough for her to slip through. She gasps at the icy stone under her feet, pushing her hair behind her ears to survey her new surroundings. Mountains reach toward the sky in the distance, staggered in every direction, but her right. To her right, the front of a monumental—well, _castle_ —seems to reach even higher than the mountains themselves. She realizes that it can't actually be taller, that it has to be due to her perspective. Still.

Her gaze traces down the open doorway into the courtyard. She slams back into the door when her mind registers the moving figures as people. She doesn't know if they've seen her. Across from her, another door waits.

Should she walk with caution or purpose? Which is more likely to catch their attention? God, she hates being so exposed. Ducking down might draw more attention than a confident stride. That dude on the grass definitely has a sword. Not to mention the full armor. Did she freaking time travel?

Not that the old-timey room hadn't already clued her into that possibility. Confirmation though—still a little hard to swallow. What should she do? If they did see her, then they might already be coming.

She strides toward the door, trying to maintain a steady pace. Can't be too quick, look too eager. Can't be too slow, look too suspicious. She's Goldilocks, strolling passed the bears. Come on, channel the Doctor. Channel Sam and Dean. Channel Sherlock Holmes. They almost always look like they belong places they shouldn't be.

The next door gives her less trouble than the first. She has more difficulty restraining herself from looking over her shoulder than wrenching it open. Once she can feel the wood of the door pressing against her back, she allows herself to take a real look around.

A small flight of stairs—literally like six steps or so—leads her down the platform beside the door and into a bigger room. Dim lights—torches—coupled with a melodious voice coming from downstairs, gives the place a much warmer feeling than the previous room. The clinking of glasses and unintelligible chatter accompanies the music, adding to the ambiance.

This room seems empty until she notices movement ahead—a young man standing in the corner. She can't see his face under the large hat on top of his head, but she can almost feel his gaze. Little point in trying to hide when he has already spotted her. She stares for a few more moments, waiting for him to make a move. He doesn't, apart from the periodic shifting of weight from foot to foot.

She tries to keep her steps to more of a tiptoe as she makes her way toward him, hoping to keep the rest of the people in this building ignorant of her presence. His shifting doesn't falter, nor does the feeling of his gaze. If he hadn't attacked her yet, he probably wouldn't. Right?

The brim of his hat conceals less the closer she gets. His clothes seem more of a patchwork of other pieces of fabric than a solid garment, though his boots look sturdy. His pale hair—white, platinum, or maybe ashy blonde—reaches his shoulders, his bangs falling into his eyes. How does he see anything with that hair and hat?

"Hello?" she greets in a tone raised just enough to be heard. Her gaze slips to the brim of his hat as she waits for his response. Its shape reminds her of her own hat. She needs to talk to Jenny about getting the raft back for the summer.

"The Sun burns, but the river—she greets like a friend," her eyes widen at the sound of his soft voice, her gaze immediately darting back to his face in an attempt to catch his. "It helps. Strains wide to protect. Fingers itching for a caress. Hers isn't better, but it is. Is it velvet?"

"Cole?" she whispers, failing to register his words in her shock. Damn it, what if he had said something cool?

She manages to catch his gaze. Now that she has heard his voice, the glazed eyes and deep bags underneath are unmistakable, even if they lack the customary DAI animation look. Holy shit, she's standing in front of Cole.

"Bright and warm. Affection catching hold." His voice sounds almost puzzled now. At least, she thinks so. Cole's tonal changes can be difficult to pick up on. Most of the companions—most of the Inquisition, really—tend to judge him for not expressing himself the same way they do. Annoying and hypocritical. He's hardly stoic. Just because he doesn't shove his emotions into their faces... At least he's genuine. His eyes skitter away from hers. "You...you want to hug me." Yeah, that's definitely puzzlement, now.

"Uh..." She totally isn't blushing. Nope.

"You remember me...but I don't remember you." It might be her imagination, but he sounds kind of awed. She tries to focus on that over her own disappointment. Of course he doesn't remember her—they've never actually met. "I've made you sad." Distressed? "I didn't mean to. I don't always get it right. But I can help." Aww, he sounds so earnest. She wants to smoosh his cheeks a little. Maybe even blow a raspberry. No, that'd be too weird.

"Cole—"

"Will...smooshing...my cheeks make you feel better?"

"Oh my god." She doesn't know whether to laugh or run away. Hearing him say that was too much. She wants to hide her face for the rest of the day. Or maybe just hug him a little too tight.

She freezes when his arms suddenly wrap around her. His chin rests against her hair, his arms stiff against her back. It reminds her of the way Sheldon hugged Penny when she gave him his Christmas present.

Her arms raise to wrap around his back and she steps closer, tightening the hug. She feels kind of weird with her chest pressed against his, recalling the party banter about his virginity. The thought makes her blush. She's starting to feel like a bit of a perv, despite the lack of sexual tension in the moment. God, why does she have to ruin a perfectly innocent, compassionate hug with creeper thoughts? And now he's starting to pull away. Damn it. He could probably hear her thoughts.

No, wait. He isn't pulling away. _She's_ being pulled away.

"What the..." His hands have slipped to her forearms now. When she glances over her shoulder, she sees nothing but the room behind her. So what's pulling her? She can't tell what his expression is doing under the weight of her own panic.

Her arms, her legs, her chest—

Or is it her skin, her veins, her blood—

She's being pulled—no, ripped—backward.

Her chest is tight, she's having trouble breathing—

Her arms slide right through his hands, even though he doesn't seem to have moved, and then—

...

She trips over something and tumbles backward, her arms dragging across—carpet, her mind supplies. Carpet burn really isn't easy to forget. Several things are digging into her back, but she just lies there, staring at the ceiling—her familiar stucco ceiling—as she regains her breath. When she musters up some energy, she uses it to smack at her cheek.

"Definitely awake," she croaks, her cheek stinging. God, it feels like she hasn't drank anything for hours.

With the sound of her own voice, the rest of her shock seems to dissipate. She rolls to her feet, staggering toward the mirror embedded in her closet—the same one she had used last time. She stands a few steps away, staring at her reflection. The shimmer underneath her eyes is gone, but the bags remain.

"Fuck." It couldn't have been a dream. It couldn't. Her toes still burned from the icy stone pathway between those rooms. She glances at the alarm clock behind her, squeezing her eyes shut when the time registers in her mind.

"No!" She bangs her fist against the glass, watching the whole door shake. The surface of the glass remains level. She rests her fist back onto the glass, allowing her head to fall forward. The glass cools her skin, though it makes her chest ache. "No...it isn't fair."

It had to have been real. She knew what dreams were like. She knew the difference. Everything had been too solid, too detailed. She could trace her thought patterns all the way back to when she sat in her room, battling Corypheus in the final main story quest. Dreams weren't like that, even the dreams that were nearly lucid. At least, not based on her own experience in training herself to lucid dream.

She sighs, watching her breath fog the glass. The bags under her eyes seem darker. Her shoulders slump. She is rather tired.

She steps back from the mirror, surveying her room. It really is messy. She should have spent her time cleaning, rather than playing that game. The dishes need to be washed. She should probably just clean the grease and fat out of that small George Foreman grill herself. If a month of it taking up half the counter space hasn't motivated Jenny to clean it, then two months won't phase her either.

"Janice!" Jenny calls in a sing-song voice, her voice carrying through the apartment. "You home?"

"Yeah!" she shouts back, scrubbing a hand down her face. No better time to start cleaning. Maybe Jenny will feel guilty if she actually sees it happening. "Hmph."

She reaches toward the mirror, wiping her breath off the glass in reflex. Should've used a cloth to prevent fingerprints smudges. She stills when she feels the glass begin to give under her skin. The give is far more sluggish than before, but it's there. Her gaze slides up her reflection and the grin she feels stretching her mouth almost hurts when she notices a bit of that same shimmer under her eyes.

She pulls her hand back and the surface of the glass snaps into its previous shape like elastic. She taps the glass once more and her touch causes the surface to give again.

"We've got work to do," Helena says to her reflection, grin somehow growing even wider.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This trash heap is the first story to sink its teeth into me for months.  
> It has already become a place for me to funnel my feels and stress.  
> It's going to be weird, I'm sure.  
> But writer's block makes us desperate, so I'm just going to let this ride.
> 
> And since there are something like four or five modern-girl-in-Thedas stories currently in existence, I figured I'd inflict this one on you all.  
> It isn't really a polished piece, so if you see any errors, don't hesitate to drop me a line.


	2. All New, Fitted For You

It takes a few days for Helena to ready herself for another trip to Skyhold. She aches with a curiosity that hours of research on mirror lore couldn't sate nor repel. Some believe mirrors act as gateways for spirits, while others believe them to devour souls. The theories range, and offer little information that she couldn't surmise herself. The gateway between worlds was a given. The rest could only be confirmed with practice. Still, the name _Bloody Mary_ would not form on her lips anytime soon. Even she knew not to poke that bear.

Following the gathering of information, compiling a warm and comfortable outfit had earned near top priority. Who knew what would happen the next time she stepped through. For all she knew, she could wind up at Adamant, forced to face a horde of demons.

Okay, so her wardrobe choices would likely have little effect on that outcome, but one thing did remain certain—comfortable shoes were a must. She could hardly run far from an Arch Demon wannabe while barefoot.

Narrowing her selection of necessary belongings had caused a headache or two. Should she arm herself? Would that only make her more suspicious if caught? Her own play-through came to mind—how helpless she had felt watching Leliana slice through Natalie's throat, the horror of overhearing Leliana's order to kidnap the Grand Cleric's cousin and realizing that no amount of button pushing could open the discussion, much less dissuade her. A pocket knife would make little difference if she caught the wrong kind of attention from Leliana.

"Oh!" she reaches for her purse, rifling through one of the inner pockets. "Pepper spray!"

Against Leliana, the pink cylinder would probably have about the same effect as a can of bathroom spray, but it was something, at least. She could hardly imagine Leliana allowing a stranger to skulk around Skyhold, so having some form of defense gave her some comfort, if nothing else.

She might be able to get Cole to vouch for her—as much as that might help. Admittedly, using him for a reference could easily just make matters worse.

She sighs, tapping her knuckle against her bottom lip. Where were they in the DAI timeline, anyway? How long had they been in Skyhold? Had the Inquisitor spoken enough to Leliana in Haven and urged her to show compassion at the right moments? More importantly, while Helena explored Skyhold in person, who controlled the Inquisitor? She pauses in her tapping, dropping her hand to her side. Did the Inquisitor even match the character she had created?

She glances at the mirror. The Inquisitor might not mirror her creation. In fact, this Inquisitor could be anyone, even Jenny's Nolalva or Eric's Rhakim. The latter induces a shudder. She had seen the way Eric played. Rhakim—a morally bankrupt elf who raises the flag of the Chantry above all else. He has a vicious sense of justice, quick to opt for the kill rather than ask questions. Even a hint of blood magic and he'll go straight for the jugular. If she finds herself in Eric's Inquisition, she'll need to run. And probably board up her mirror.

Another sigh huffs out. All of these 'what if' questions serve only to heighten her anxiety. She can't let them deter her. Adventure comes with risk. The answers to those questions can only be found on the other side of the mirror.

The bag weighs upon her shoulder as she stares into the mirror. Would the accessory come through? Would the mirror reject its presence, wrenching it from her shoulder just before she passes the threshold? Worse still, what if the mirror altered her belongings to their counterparts within Thedas?

She hadn't arrived at Skyhold in the typical _Terminator_ gear, so nonorganic matter could pass through. If her clothes emerged alongside her, then it stood to reason that her bag would too. Still, she makes certain to leave her cell phone behind lest the trip transform it into an ingot of metal. If things went as planned, there would be other chances to test the mirror's impact on electronics. Of course, even if the tech emerged unscathed, the potential for its discovery to cause chaos in Thedas remained a very real concern. Perhaps she would refrain from taking the risk at all.

Helena surveys herself in the mirror, running through her mental checklist. Her warmest thigh-high socks under her favorite jeans, her pant legs stuffed into her boots. The boots remain her default choice in most cases, though the wear has become obvious in small tears up the sides of her feet. She hopes this trip won't mark their death.

One of her longer shirts and a long leather coat compose the rest of her travel gear. None of the items offer the kind of warmth she'd need for hiking in the snow, but they suit a journey to the tavern just fine. And if the coat makes her feel a little bit more badass, well...everyone has their own armor.

With one more glance into her bag, she determines herself ready. The first ripple across the surface of the mirror is almost soothing with the near itch she'd had to pass through the mirror again. Her tapping quiets as the glass encloses her hand, sliding up her arm. She uses one of her feet to spring forward, trying not to panic as the glass reaches her mouth, small tendrils curving over her cheeks to—

...

She sucks in a breath, her gaze barely registering the ceiling as familiar. Her roll onto her knees is slower this time, her gasps almost refreshing as she pulls in the mountain air. She brushes her hair behind her ears and peers at the room around her. If anything has changed since her last visit, she cannot tell. She moves to stand, disoriented when something taps against her side.

"It worked!" she cheers, freezing almost as soon as the words leave her mouth.

She listens with bated breath for some indication that someone has overheard her. A sigh puffs out of her mouth once a few moments of silence pass. She checks her bag one more time and grins.

Her steps toward the door on the right are more lively than before and it takes more effort than it should for her to quiet her movements. This time, she tries not to hesitate once she passes through the door, intent upon maintaining that confident walk that kept others from looking twice. Her entrance into the tavern is completed with a similar lack of fanfare, leaving only one last step to take—speaking to Cole.

The bag dangling from her shoulders seems to swing more on her way toward him. She twitches with the desire to still it.

"Hello, Cole." She speaks in the same low tone as last time.

"More solid, now. The needle is dull, but the pulls sharp. Joy woven with an old ache." Cole's gaze seems to sharpen as he peers at her from under the brim of his hat. "You remember me?" She clenches her fingers into the fabric of the bag at her side.

"Of course I remember you." Her words come out almost in a whisper. She clears her throat. "Do you remember me?" she asks in a more level tone.

"The air claws at her. Talons pull her organs toward a door that isn't. The Fade sings, but she doesn't hear it over her terror. Please don't let me go." Cole's gaze shifts away, even as he takes a step closer. "Yes, I remember. You were here and there was singing. And then you weren't."

Her relief over being remembered almost distracts her enough to miss his observations. The first part of his monologue had to refer to her, didn't it? Why else would he answer her question that way? The clawing sounded like the force that had pulled at her. But the Fade? Why mention that? And what singing did he hear? Maryden? She couldn't remember if Maryden had been singing when she was wrenched back. It seemed an odd detail to mention, though she had to admit that was often true of many of his observations.

Helena shakes the thoughts away, determined to revisit them once she returns to her bedroom.

"Yeah...I'm still not quite sure how that happened," she admits. "Anyway," she continues, "how've you...been?" Her voice rises at the end along with the level of awkward.

Cole tilts his head and stares at her.

"I mean," she coughs, "what have you been doing since we last spoke? Are you..." she forces her thoughts to steer clear of the outcome of her own gameplay, "...well?"

"Hiding, hearing, helping. Forgetting makes them angry. But seeing makes them scared. I keep trying to help, but—"

"I'm sure you've been doing a great job," she smiles, some of the awkwardness dissipating. Cole's presence must have been a fairly new addition to Skyhold. His straddling of the fence between spirit and human attested to that. "Oh! I have something for you."

She reaches into her bag for the pair of gloves, hoping to maintain the ease of her smile throughout the exchange.

"The fingers ache, but the pull stays true. Pale for his hair and bright for his Fade,"  
Cole says when she raises her hand between them. "You made them."

"Yes," she confirms, taking his lack of movement in stride, "I did."

They watch each other for a moment. Or, well, she watches him. His eyes remain fixed on the gloves.

"So..." She clears her throat. "You should probably try them on."

Cole looks down at his hands.

"Here," she says, reaching for one of his hands. Cole flinches at her touch and Helena pulls away in a jerk. "I'm so sorry." She can feel the heat rising to her face, even as her eyes itch and her throat clogs. She knew the others didn't touch him, but she hadn't considered that he might've preferred it that way. "I'm sorry." She clears her throat, feeling the rest of her skin itch at the oversight. "I—uh—it was stupid." A stupid gift for someone who didn't even know her, much less share her affection. She had just felt so inspired a day ago. Her hands tighten around the gloves, frowning at her foolishness. "You don't have to try them on."

Her hair slides into her eyes as she turns, struggling to shove the abominable things back into her bag. She flinches when Cole's hands settle over her own, stalling the motions.

"Slick, shining, silver strung with links of curled steel. He didn't remember his promise, but she did. Folly, foolish, folding. She promised herself never again, but she broke it for him." Helena bites at her lip, trying not to think of necklaces made with yogurt lids. "How could he forget?" Cole sounds bewildered by the prospect of someone's memory failing them without his influence.

"It was a joke." She keeps her voice level. "Why else would he forget?"

"But it wasn't!" Helena jumps at the vehemence in his tone. "Hands clasped firm. Twisting, turning, twirling. Curved lips and a laugh like sunshine."

"It was a joke to him," she stresses, curling the nails of her left hand into her palm. She can barely remember his face now, though the humiliation of his confused and uncomfortable smile still stung. Stupid, stupid, stupid—

"But you weren't stupid!" Cole's agitation seems to have only grown, along with the restless shift of his weight between his feet. His gaze skitters from their hands to the walls of the tavern, periodically twitching to meet her eyes. "Giddy, growing—"

"It's okay, Cole." She plasters on a smile. She wishes she could make it more genuine for him. "It was a long time ago. I don't even think about it often."

"That's not true," Cole's insists. "You think about everything all the time. Mistakes branding, banging, berating—"

"Please, Cole." She sighs, feeling her shoulders slump. "I'd really like to stop talking about it."

Cole frowns, but allows silence to overtake the conversation. His whole body seems to have settled as his restless shifting ceases.

"I want to try them on."

"It's okay." She sighs again. "You don't need to do that to comfort me." She tries to shake off his hands, but his grip tightens. She glances up, her surprise increasing when she meets his gaze.

"You made me a gift." His lucidity amazes her. "No one's ever given me a gift."

"They're nothing special," she says, blushing at the note of near wonder in his voice. Her gaze falls to their hands. "I just thought you might want a pair." She inspects his current gloves. "I made them fingerless, so that you wouldn't lose any of your dexterity."

His hands shift upon hers, releasing her grip on the gloves. The soft yarn slips through her fingers and into his. She wonders at the ease with which he touches her. Was he affecting nonchalance for her benefit? Helena frowns, stuffing her hands into her pockets.

"They're made of yarn, so they might not hold up too well. I don't know. I just thought...you could use something else. Something yours. Something just for you. I mean, I know you have your hat, but...well."

What had prompted her to decide that he needed gloves, anyway?

"Brush of fabric and they still. Gaze too sharp and they recoil. Creepy, crawling, creature. It sees me, it wants to be human, it wants my face..." Cole's voice rings with sadness. She doesn't think he's referring to that Envy demon from the _Champions of the Just_ quest she had watched online. Her hands clench and her frown deepens. If the mask is literal... "Can't forget, can't let her mask fall, can't—"

"Whose thoughts are those?" she asks. Cole shakes his head.

"She wouldn't like it if I told." Pressuring Cole into confirming what she already knew would be pointless and cruel. Besides, what could she really do? Vivienne's perception of the world remained airtight throughout her play-through. She had a way of portraying her own views in a more reasonable light, always ready with a quip. Any valid points she made about Cole would be met with an inarguable, if not strictly accurate, counter. Helena sighs.

"So, do they fit alright?"

"Yes." She watches Cole flex his hands. "They fit well. I like them." Helena purses her lips into something of a smile.

"Well. I'm glad."

She rocks forward on her feet, glancing around the tavern. The torchlight flickers across the walls as usual, Maryden's melodic voice filling the air. The chatter underneath the music gives her pause.

"Cole..." She resists the urge to step closer to the railing and peer down. "Did you tell anyone about me?"

"You're worried." Cole tilts his head to the side. "You don't have to be. They're good. They help."

"I know, it's just..." She puffs out a breath, brushing a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. "You can tell I'm different, right? I mean, different than the other people here."

Helena directs her thoughts toward what she imagines the most glaring differences between her world and Thedas would be for someone like Cole.

"Brighter. So much brighter. And loud." Cole's eyes have gone hazy, his lips pulled down into a frown. "People scurrying everywhere like roaches, their gazes chained to a box of light. All they can see are its flashes, they cannot hear the others, they do not care—"

"Cole!" Helena interrupts his spiraling, wincing over his assessment of her world. She hadn't meant to channel her inner Dwight Schrute while imagining her world. What a horrible tour guide she would be.

"Sorry." She can barely see his face from underneath his hat. "Your world is very loud. And bright. How do you manage it?"

"Lots of practice, I guess." She readjusts the strap of her bag, peering under the brim of his hat. "Do you think you can keep my home a secret? It would...help." She grimaces at the choice of words and the emphasis. Both guaranteed to appeal to Cole's instincts and make her feel rotten.

"Clinging to secrets that chafe inside, when speaking dulls the blade." Cole seems almost tired. It must wear on him—juggling so many secrets. She wonders if Blackwall and Solas had taken the time to pull him aside, too. "They would understand if you explained."

"I'm sure they would." Okay, no, she really isn't, but she can understand where Cole is coming from. And he does have a little window into their thoughts, so if anyone would know, it would be him. "But think about it, Cole—think about what a portal to another world could do if word reached Corypheus."

Come to think of it, using her mirror to travel to Skyhold had been a rather dangerous and reckless idea. If Corypheus did become aware of the portal, he probably would try to find a way to secure it for himself. Especially after being denied...

"I understand."

The wave of relief his words illicit subsides with the first pull underneath her skin. She tries not to panic this time, tries not to resist.

"There is nothing to be afraid of." Cole's voice echoes her thoughts, offering a modicum of comfort.

She exhales all the air from her lungs and allows herself to sink into the pull—

...

She stumbles backward until the back of her legs hit her bed, knocking her off her feet. With one hand pressing against her chest and the other gripping her blankets, she gasps. Her chest heaves and her eyes remain wide and fixed on the mirror across from her.

"You're fine," she gasps at her reflection, "you're fine. You can breathe. You're fine."

She stares at her reflection until she regains her breath. The knot in her chest eventually loosens and she relaxes her grip on her blankets to brush the hair out of her face.

"Oh my god," she breathes. Her lips curve into a smile. "I have...a magic mirror."

She laughs with the spike of giddiness, falling backward onto her bed.

"Mirror, mirror," she smiles at the ceiling, "on the...uh...closet." Her brows furrow. What rhymes with closet? "Good to know I haven't...lost it?"

...


	3. The Definition of Helping

"Hey, Cole," she greets, taking a seat on the crate beside him. The sound of Sera's song brings a smile to her face. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yes."

"So what is Sera thinking about when Maryden sings this song? Does she really not notice?"

"Wet, slippery, slide. The lyrics become a swift flick between her thighs—"

"Whoa!" Helena waves her hands in the universal motion for _halt_. "You really don't need to finish that thought." She pulls a hand down her face, trying to suppress the zigzagging of her thoughts between Maryden between Sera's thighs, Sera between her own, and not to mention those words coming out of Cole's mouth... God, she really is a perv. "I guess I should've known." She clears her throat, really hoping Cole had remained tuned into Sera's radio station over her own. "But seriously, how can she not notice a song about her?"

"Their thoughts are often too loud to focus on her words."

Cole peers down at her and she begins to regret her decision to sit. This angle is not doing her blush any favors.

"Right." Helena levers herself up, brushing her hair behind her ears. "Makes sense." She glances at his hat. Maybe Cole has the right idea. A wide brim like that would do wonders for circumventing whatever her expression happens to give away at any given time.

"The others are more comfortable when they can't see his face."

"You mean your face."

"This body belonged to Cole—"

"And you're Cole," she insists. "Maybe not the same Cole as whoever he was when you found him, and maybe not even what you were before that, but you're still him. And he's you. A fusion."

What would his fusion be called? Compassion and Cole. Compass-Cole? He'll peek into your thoughts, blab to the group, and show you the way? Too bad he isn't an archer. The spinning arrow? Too good to pass up.

"We did not need to dance to join." Cole tilts his head.

"No, that's uh—I know." That probably would have been a horrifying thing to witness, actually. A spirit twirling an emaciated corpse across a cell. The legs would drag, the arms sag...

Helena keeps her gaze averted, too guilty to check if Cole has been affected by her thoughts. Hopefully, he hadn't been tuned in just then.

"So, can I ask you another question?"

"Yes."

"Why do you always hang out up here?"

"They come here to forget. The dark thoughts that scurry, scrape, scratch at the others. Her voice drowns them out. His drink numbs the screams lodged in their throats."

"So you come here to...watch them help themselves?" Her smile falls as she registers the dual meaning. Help themselves. Sure, if they had the self-restraint. A fine line between helping and hurting themselves.

"Her words slur, the sound of her voice grates. Is being with us so impossible to bear? Do you even care—"

"Cole!" Helena waits for his gaze to focus on her before pointing at his hands. "You're wearing them?" Cole glances down at the yarn wrapped around his palms.

"Yes."

"So you...like them?"

"They make my skin feel warm."

"That's...uh," Helena pushes her hair back, ignoring the heat on her face, "good...right?"

"Yes..." Cole brushes his thumb along the inside of his left palm. "I think so."

"Well, good." Helena nods once, gaze darting around as she clears her throat. "Wait." Her gaze refocuses on him as her brows furrow. "You didn't just put them on when you realized I was coming, did you?"

"I never know when you're coming."

"Oh."

"You worried I was lying." Cole tilts his head. "Why would I—"

"You wouldn't." She clears her throat again. "I guess." She squints at him. "Not about this anyway." She raises an eyebrow. "Unless you were trying to help."

"I try to help." Cole nods, shifting his feet. "And I like the gloves."

"Right." She nods, relaxing her eyes. "They don't have to be mutually exclusive. I gotcha."

Helena glances around the tavern. Not much on the third floor. Or would this be considered an attic?

"You ever thought of going down there?" she asks, peeking over the railing. The drop looks much higher now that her body has lost its in-game durability. At least, she thinks it has. Not something she's willing to test at the moment.

"I make them uncomfortable."

"That sounds like their problem to me." She runs her nails across the railing. "I know you're all about solving problems, but sometimes, they really need to just get over it."

"I don't want to hurt anyone. Seeing me makes them hurt." Cole's hat obscures his entire face as he stares at the floor.

"Only because they haven't gotten to know you." Except Vivienne. No hope for her. Probably. "And they can't get to know you if you spend all your time in the shadows." She grips the railing. "You can't coddle them forever. The only way for them to overcome their fear is to confront it. Just like how you get people to confront their pain by giving words to their hurt." She glances at the bartender. How should she go about procuring a little coin? Oh, maybe some jewelry would work! "One of these days, you and I are going to sit at that bar and order a drink." She grimaces a little when she notes some of the rowdy people occupying the barstools. "Okay, maybe a table instead." She turns to Cole. "But definitely down there."

"I don't know..."

"You're allowed to help yourself, you know." Helena ducks her head to peer under the brim of Cole's hat. She offers a small smile when he meets her gaze. "Every once in a while."

Helena misses Cole's response as that deep pull expands within her, making her bones almost ache. Is it time, already? How long has she been here? With a couple of hard blinks, she refocuses on Cole. She can actually see his face without ducking now.

"Don't forget what I said." At least he seems finished with hiding underneath his hat for the moment. Maybe she got through to him. "We're still getting that drink," she finishes with a pointed look.

A quick gasp inward and—

...

She stumbles backward into her bed, but remains standing.

"Totally getting the hang of this," she breathes at her reflection.

A quick peek at her clock confirms that little time has passed. She grabs her notebook off her bed and despite her shaking hands, she manages to keep her writing within the lines.

"Two to three minutes," she mumbles, frowning. "Should've set the timer on my phone." Hardly precise without measuring the seconds. "Next time."

She would need a way to document time in Thedas as well. A stopwatch? It would give her a chance to test the mirror's effect on technology.

"But should I do this?" Helena asks in a deep, dramatic voice, puffing up her chest. She raises her head, staring off into the distance. "For if anyone should get their hands on such a device..." She snorts, relaxing her posture. "They'd probably just think it's some foreign magic." She squints her eyes. "Maybe an old, Dwarven relic?"

She turns toward the mirror, meeting her own gaze.

"It is risky, though." She taps the notebook with her pen. "Who knows what could happen." She stares at her reflection. It would be nice to discuss all of this with someone. "You're no help." The thought of actually telling anyone, even Jenny, makes her frown.

"I really hope you aren't listening to this..." she says, studying her reflection. "Magic...Mirror." She squints her eyes. "Or some shadow person trying to steal my face."

She closes her eyes with a sigh, rubbing her neck.

"Please," she stresses, "don't be a shadow person trying to steal my face." She opens her eyes to squint again. "Mirror person," she corrects. "Whatever."

...


	4. Approximate Revelations

Helena grins when the glass gives.

"Finally!"

She pulls her hand back before she sinks too far in. Her head whips around as she runs through her mental checklist, her movements almost jerking with her burst of energy.

"Cellphone, stopwatch..." she trails off, pausing in her scurrying. "Oh! The necklace!"

She almost trips on her way to her jewelry box. The locket might not actually earn her much. She hopes it's different enough to appeal to someone in Skyhold. Who knows what it's even made of. They might just throw it back in her face.

"Alright..." She pats her pockets—stopwatch in the right, necklace in the left. Separated in case they fuse going through the mirror. Or something. She really needs to figure out how all of this works. "Think I've got everything."

Boots and jeans are still a go, though she grabs her red leather jacket instead. Every hero needs that signature article of clothing. The one that becomes their armor. She stares into the mirror. This could be her. She pulls out her hairtie, fluffing out her hair. Very Emma Swan.

"Definitely not a savior, though," she mumbles, grabbing her phone.

Helena clicks through the menu, opening up the stopwatch part of her clock app. She glances up at the mirror and frowns. She needs to activate the stopwatch before making contact with the mirror, but starting the time before she passes through will render her results inaccurate. Unless she can manage to note how many seconds have passed just as the mirror consumes her...

"Might work..."

She walks over to her nightstand, moving everything on top of it to the floor, before carrying it toward the mirror. Careful to keep it from touching the glass itself, she moves into position, placing her phone onto the wood.  

"Guess that's everything," she says, starting the stopwatch before pressing her fingers into the glass.

The surface gives under the pressure, the glass enveloping her skin. She lets out a breath, fixing her gaze on her phone. Sixteen, Sevent—

...

Helena sucks in her first breath, her hand already grasping at her pocket. Her eyes refocus as she clicks the button on the stopwatch, staring at the ceiling. She allows herself a few moments to just breathe before rolling to her knees and pulling the stopwatch from her pocket. The seconds click by without any hiccups. Basic tech? Check.

"Huh."

The reading won't be accurate, not quite, given the time spent passing through the mirror itself and the moments of incapacitation before taking that first breath. Who knows how many seconds she has spent lying here, chest still and unfocused gaze aimed at the ceiling. Not for the first time, she wishes she had someone to discuss all of this with. Someone with a better grasp on science and the paranormal. With a flick of his wrist, the Doctor's sonic screwdriver could probably solve the mystery.

"Could ask Solas." She snorts. "Maybe the veil is thin here." And in her mirror. Trying to explain that the Fade does not exist in her world to a Rift Mage would be all kinds of fun. She can feel her eyes widen. "Unless it does exist." Her foray into lucid dreaming still hadn't yielded much. Maybe the game developers had based the Fade on their own experiences. Who knew, really?

Helena stands from the bed, straightening her hair and clothes. She swats at the dust on her back with a grimace.

"What a great image," she grumbles. "Short, odd, and dusty."

The room still radiates abandonment, but she wonders if setting up some kind of contraption to notify her if anyone had disturbed the room might be wise. Though, if someone did stumble through here and found a tripwire, that would probably only garner the kind of attention she should avoid.

She shrugs to herself. Just another issue for her to put a pin in until later. Her hand twitches to her pocket and she hesitates only for moment before reaching inside. The stopwatch continues to blink in the proper sequence. It'll be difficult to pause the timer when the mirror takes hold. If she can even manage that.

"Just another inaccuracy."

Helena sighs. She glances back at the bed. She could just lie down. Less stress over the stopwatch. Less chance of being spotted in her bright red jacket as she attempts to tiptoe in the lion's den. No—the nightingale's stronghold.

"It isn't...that bright." She grimaces down at her arm. What had she been thinking?

Helena clenches her fists and groans. She relishes the carving of her nails into her skin for a few seconds before opening her palms. She rubs them down the tops of her thighs, taking and releasing a deep breath.

"Nothing to do about it now," she says softly to herself.

Helena strides forward, wrenching the door open without pause. The wind whips her hair about her face, but she refuses to acknowledge the obstruction until she has her back to the tavern door. She attempts to wrangle the strands behind her ears, barely able to see in front of her as she steps toward Cole's increasingly familiar nook. Nest. Whatever it was.

"Hey, Cole—"

"Your boyfriend's not here."

Helena jumps, clipping her hip on Cole's signature crate with a curse.

"Wh-what?" she stammers, brushing her hair back to find Sera crouching in Cole's usual haunt. Helena watches Sera straighten to her full height, taking in her suspenders and adorable freckles. She tries not to blush when she realizes that while she has been staring, Sera's gaze has been making its own sweep.

"It. The demon thingy. It's not here." Helena frowns. Well. That takes care of her blush.

"He isn't a demon."

"Course you'd say that," Sera sneers, crossing her arms.

"What do you mean?"

"You know. You being a demon thing, too."

Helena can almost hear the record scratch.

"You...think I'm a demon?"

"I've seen you pop off. People—" Helena frowns as Sera stresses that word in that bigoted manner she often does. "—don't disappear like that."

"Maybe I'm just stealthy."

Sera laughs in that quick, barking way of hers. The sound triggers her own smile and almost makes her forget that she's talking to an adorable killing machine. Almost. Cole knowing about her was one thing. But Sera...is still laughing.

"What—I can be sneaky!"

"Can you?" Sera smirks, tilting her head.

"Yes! I've snuck up on so many people. Like this one time," she gestures with her hands, "my friend went outside to flirt with some boys—she was obsessed with boys. Like an animal in heat, sometimes," she adds as an afterthought. "Anyway, while she was gone, I placed a bunch of Barb—dolls around the house." Helena grins, her gaze refocusing on Sera, who...looks confused. "She was scared to death of dolls. Ever since that Twilight ep—ever since that dream she had where they came to life."

Which still didn't make sense, since those Barbies were actually trying to warn the babysitter about that creepy kid...

"She ran around screaming her head off..." Helena continues grinning, feeling only a modicum of guilt. Cindy had gotten her back for that. And that revenge had been glorious, even if it left Helena a little bruised.

"What—were you trying to help her overcome her fears or some rubbish like that?" Sera rolls her eyes.

"Not really, no..." She shrugs. "I just thought it'd be funny. And it was."

Sera uncrosses her arms, picking at her hands as she shifts in place.

"You're a little...weird." Helena's eyebrows try to relocate up her forehead.

"How am I the weird one?"

"You're not all...demony. Like it is."

"He's not a demon." Helena sighs, rubbing the back of her head. "Look, most of those creepy things he says aren't really his own thoughts." She levels her gaze with Sera's. "They're someone else's. Someone like you. You know that, right?"

"But that's the thing, yeah?" Sera grimaces. "It shouldn't be poking around in our heads."

"You're one to talk." Helena huffs. "Don't you thrive on poking your nose where it doesn't belong?"

"Shut up! You stay out of my head, too!" Sera glares.

Helena steps back, her eyes widening at Sera's scrunched expression.

"I wasn't reading your mind," Helena offers, swallowing. Can't really tell her that she has spent hours with her in the game that comprises her entire existence... "It's just, I know—I mean, I've heard that you like to play pranks and that the kitchen...banned you?" She takes another step back, glancing around the tavern walls. "Anyway, I really wasn't reading your mind. So sorry. For freaking you out."

Helena mentally sighs with relief when she feels that telltale pull. If only the mirror could yank her out of all of her awkward conversations.

"Well, look at the time." Speaking of time. Helena pushes her hand into her right pocket, careful as she places her fingers into position. If she can click the button at just the right moment... "I've gotta go." The pulling is flaring within her, spreading throughout her limbs. Is her chest aching more or less this time? "Tell Cole I'm sorry I missed him." She tries not to exacerbate her breathing. Because that can't be a good thing, right? Does she hold her breath or exhale? Damn it, she can't remember. "Or don't. You're all weird about him. You probably won't." Oh well. Any second now. "I'll just—"

...

Helena's legs twist underneath her on her way back through the mirror, sending her to the floor. She yanks the stopwatch out of her pocket and sucks in a breath when she sees the timer still going.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it," she huffs as she clicks the button. She hadn't managed to press it before becoming incapacitated by the mirror. Now her measurements in Thedas would be really off.

"Oh, fuck!"

Helena flings herself toward her nightstand, almost knocking it over as she grasps her phone. A second or two manage to click by before she can hit the pause button.

"Mother fucking hell—" her words cut off with a groan.

She struggles her way out of her jacket, flinging the article at her bed. Now both of her measurements were off. Not that they weren't already going to be, but she should have been able to manage this side of things better. And she had done so well upon arriving in Thedas.

Helena spends a few minutes grumbling at her reflection before twisting toward her bed, reaching for her notebook and pen. She documents the flawed results, though the obviously incorrect numbers seem to glare back at her. Still, she rounds out both numbers to something a little easier to use before generating an approximate representation of the relationship of time between the "real" world and Thedas.

"So according to these calculations..." she mumbles, tapping her pen against her lip. "For every hour I spend in Thedas...only five minutes pass here?"

The implications of this... Helena could spend days in Thedas with only hours passing in the real world. She considers her previous trips to Skyhold and the gap between them. A couple of days for her became almost a month for Cole.

"Damn." Helena frowns, recalling his recent absence. "Maybe I should've written him a letter or something."

...


	5. Meetings and Things

Helena props her head on her fist, tapping her pen to the page with the other. Her reflection stares back in a perfect mirror of her pose. The tapping fills the silence of the apartment. For a fleeting moment, she wonders where Jenny is. Another glance at her reflection snuffs out that train of thought.

Sera thinks she's a demon, or rather, a spirit like Cole. If Sera noticed her presence, Iron Bull must know about her as well. In fact, both of them were most likely aware of her the first time she stepped into the tavern.

Sera had been waiting for her. And her little disappearing act had probably only confirmed the rogue's suspicions. Pretending to be a new recruit or such nonsense would be out of the question. She could play the mage card, but without record of her presence in a Circle, she'd be labeled an apostate. If the Inquisitor had sided with the mages like she had, then perhaps that wouldn't be so bad. Unless someone asked for a simple spell. Or wanted a tutorial in "teleportation" magic.

"I'm so screwed." Helena groans, tossing her pen and notebook aside to fall back onto her bed. If she forces her gaze out of focus long enough, her ceiling almost looks like the one in that room in Skyhold.

Allowing the Inquisitor's inner circle to believe that she was like Cole would cover the many holes in her back story. She could only skate by so long before people started digging. If she knew Leliana at all, then the rogue already had a file on her.

The verdict on how masquerading as a spirit like Cole would affect her personal safety remains unknown. Cole's presence in the tavern during her past trips demonstrates the Inquisition's willingness to accept his help in the fight against Corypheus, but the nature of their relationship could still prove to be tense. The added pressure of her, yet another anomaly, might tip that fragile balance into a darker direction. Skepticism about Cole's nature had prompted several debates in her own playthrough. Would claiming to be another merely expose her to greater risk?

Helena sighs. Claiming to be a spirit like Cole really is her safest option, barring the slight possibility that they opt to kill her on sight. Once more, she wonders if she should abstain from further trips into the mirror altogether. Logically, the idea of risking her life just for a few chats with a video game character just seems...insane.

But how many times had she wished for the chance to interact with her favorite fictional characters? To climb into those books, those shows, to be by their side while they faced every obstacle. To be the voice of reason when their grief, their anger, their loneliness, overshadowed everything else...

Helena groans again, rolling to her feet. She moves to her closet and rests her hand on the frame, careful to keep her skin off of the glass. Flicking through her clothes yields the same result as yesterday.

"Why can't I just pick something and stick with it?" she grumbles. She needs that special item—the thing all the great heroes have. Almost like her calling card. Something that she wears enough that it becomes a part of her.

"Like this awesome wolf bracelet." Helena smiles down at her left wrist, still charmed by the simplistic silhouette of a wolf howling at a yellow moon hanging in a blue night sky. She had found it at a costume shop a few months ago for under a dollar. The thought of returning to that shop to buy a couple back-ups had occurred to her more than once, but part of her resisted the idea of detracting from its specialness in that way.

The leather jackets appeal to her badass persona, but they restrict her movement. Her favorite zip-up is soft, warm, and so worn that tiny holes pepper the ends of her sleeves. Though comfortable, that article of clothing is hardly the banner she wants to wave for herself. Helena sighs again. Maybe that could be her gimmick. Sighing.

"Fuck it." She grabs an old favorite—a green button-up jacket. The thin fabric offers little warmth, but at least she'll feel good while wearing it. She purses her lips and surveys her reflection. "Unless I freeze to death."

Helena taps the mirror, gasping when the glass gives immediately. She nearly trips on her way to her bed, surveying her notes. Based on previous experience, the pull of the glass should have been sluggish for another day or so.

Only when her face begins to ache does she notice the size of her grin as she struggles into her jeans and boots. The stopwatch and necklace go into their designated pockets, which she can't seem to stop patting every thirty seconds or so. Her handwriting is atrocious when she jots down the time and date, readying the entry for the upcoming trial of this...experiment.

With her phone set up on her nightstand and the stopwatch in her pocket, Helena begins again, feeling a rush when the glass gives with ease at the pressure of her fingertips. She stares at the shift of the glass for a few moments, marveling at the way it spreads up her arm before forcing her gaze to her phone, watching the seconds tick by before—

...

Helena releases a giggle on the end of her first exhale, her veins almost humming with her joy, her adrenaline. She allows herself to just sink into the truly horrid mattress, giggling at the ceiling. Her smile only slips when she remembers the stopwatch. She groans with a roll of her eyes, noting the incorrect measurement. She wallows for a few moments and, with a frown at the ceiling, stuffs the stopwatch back into her pocket.

Less dust seems to rise around her when she sits up this time, though that might just be a matter of perspective. Once again, the room seems untouched. Perhaps she should consider assembling some kind of kit to stash in here. Who knew what the future held, what situations she might find herself in. Having access to basic necessities—a lighter or a box of matches come immediately to mind—could make a huge difference in the future.

Helena makes a mental note about the kit and readjusts her clothes, brushing her hair into some manner of order. She heaves the door open and strides to the tavern with an ease borne from routine. She keeps her gaze directed ahead of her, restraining herself from glancing to either side lest she catch someone's eye. The observational gap almost makes her itch.

She smiles when she opens the door and spots Cole in his corner, his stance shifting. Her guilt over missing him during her last trip lessens when he looks up at her.

"Hey, Cole." If she could see herself, she would call her smile warm. "I'm sorry I missed you last time I was here. Did Sera...did she tell you I said hi?" She clears her throat, feeling a little dumb now that the words have left her mouth.

The brim of Cole's hat shadows his face even as he shifts his weight, keeping his hands clasped behind his back. The pose reminds her of Solas and her eyes widen. If Sera knew about her, then she might have added Helena to her list of taunts regarding his affinity for spirits...

"Helena."

Her fidgeting and her thoughts still at the sound of her name. She can't recall a time when Cole had used it.

"Cole?"

And she still can't see his face.

"Will you...come with me?" Helena swallows. She doesn't know which is more disconcerting—his stance or the clarity of his words.

"Where did you want to go?" Her voice is quiet.

"The others...would like to meet you."

The urge to run threatens to overwhelms her. It might have succeeded if her flight response didn't stall when Cole's hand grasped her own. The shock of him initiating touch renders her legs into lead.

"Don't be afraid." The concern in his eyes punches the air out of her lungs in a noisy exhale. "They won't hurt you." So very earnest. She can't really expect him to keep that promise, not if the others deem her a threat. She stares down at their hands.

"You're wearing the gloves?" She frowns at the sight of the yarn, now browned.

"Quick, cutting, careful." The haziness of his words settles her with its familiarity. "But they spilled. Stained." Cole grimaces, his back stiffening. "I tried to get it out, but it won't leave..."

"It's okay, Cole." She squeezes his hand with her other. "I'm just surprised you're wearing them."

Cole tilts his head, finally meeting her gaze.

"I like them."

Helena's smile is small, her thoughts refocusing on the others.

"They just have to see." There's a steadiness to his words that makes her want to believe him.

Helena takes a deep breath, Cole's cool hand grounding her. Running would only cause her problems later. The inner circle could have stationed themselves in the tavern around Cole to ambush her. Their reliance on Cole to coax her to them said quite a bit. Perhaps they believed she would vanish if they confronted her in such a manner.

The gesture seems more calculated than that, however. Solas could have cast a paralysis spell to keep her rooted. Hell, Vivienne could have frozen her solid like noble what's-his-face. No, going this route gave them an opportunity to suss out her character, her motivations. Fleeing would confirm her guilt in their eyes. But playing along...well. It might throw them for a loop, if nothing else.

Cole's grip tightens with her resolve and she allows him to tow her back up the stairs and through the door. The wind grants a cooling reprieve to her skin and she tries not to feel like an elementary schooler on a fieldtrip, her hand clasping that of her designated buddy.

Helena tries to focus on their progress down the stairs, rather than any stares they might be garnering. Each step extends further than the game had led her to believe. Thinking about climbing back up them makes her huff. What better way to show Skyhold just how out-of-shape she is than for her to hack a lung at whoever she ran into once reaching the top.

"So, Cole." She swings her arms for a moment, blinking when she realizes Cole's still grasping her hand. She forces herself to still and tries not to think anything of the prolonged contact. "How did anyone know I was here?"

"Crooning, soft and warm. I heard your humming." Cole looks at her out of the corner of his eye.

"And you promised them you'd let them know the next time I visited," she surmises with a sigh.

"Confused, careful, curious. Not the heavy words, just breath," Cole reassures.

Helena wonders what he means by that. Heavy words... Heavy with what? Anger? And the humming. When had he heard her hum? For that matter, how could he find her vocal talents soft and warm? She almost giggles at the image of him staring up at her with wonder as she screeches out lines like an angry cat.

When they reach the bottom, Cole leads her across the grass toward another set of stairs. She doesn't need to guess where he's taking her. Did the Inquisition convene all of its meetings on that grassy patch in front of Skyhold's gates?

"Another demon in our midst? Surely even you recognize the implications."

Helena shrinks beside Cole at the sound of Vivienne's voice. She wants to sink her heels into the ground, but Cole's gentle touch continues to coax her forward. Vivienne and Solas stand near the stairwell, their forms obscured until she and Cole step from stone to grass.

Vivienne's lack of horned helmet and mask doesn't render her any less sharp. The near blinding white of her garments must be the result of magic, for nothing so pristine exists around her. She seems almost immune to blemishes of clothing, skin, even expression. Solas stands almost as a counter to her with his faded, earthy tones and slightly baggy tunic. He seems to radiate a sense of calm relaxation, despite his defined facial features and poise.

Her gaze slides to the jawbone around his neck, fascinated by the dichotomy of him, of how he looks versus what she knows he's capable of. Perhaps "poised" is a more fitting term.

"Cole is an anomaly. To find another is strange, I admit." Solas's voice... She's hearing his voice in person...

Helena lifts her gaze and holds her breath when Solas makes eye contact with her. The weight of his attention, his assessment of whatever he sees in her muffles her thoughts, heightens her awareness of her surroundings.

"However," Solas turns back to Vivienne and Helena clenches her jaw against a sharp laugh at the shine of his bald head, "their similarities should not merit immediate censure."

"And how will you justify allowing this one to infiltrate our ranks?" Vivienne keeps her gaze on Solas, even as she gestures at Helena. "Tell me, Solas—how many spared lives does immunity cost?"

"Must all beings earn their right to live?"

"When said being has the potential to claim countless lives in the future—yes."

Helena isn't certain whether she should wince or snort at that. The idea of her posing a real threat to any of them, with their spells and swords, seems laughable.

"A belief based purely on speculation."

However...

"One need not speculate the motivations of a demon to acknowledge their danger. Fire burns, whether or not it means to."

Helena averts her gaze to the ground, considering the knowledge she possesses. That knowledge could threaten...everything. Manifestations of a game or not, these people had sentience. Feelings. And she had the capacity to destroy them. Cole squeezes her hand and she tries not to panic over what he must think of her current thoughts.

"Fire can also grant warmth, soothe aches, and ward against the bite of a chill. Would you succumb to darkness in fear of the heat of a torch?"

Helena suppresses a smile. She almost wants to clap at that witty counter. Thoughts of Vivienne freezing and shattering her hands keep her from doing so.

"She is here to help."

Helena jerks, snapping her head toward Cole, who continues to stare at Solas. She looks between them, trying to hide her surprise when Solas's gaze flicks toward her.

"Cole is a spirit. If her intentions were malevolent in nature, he would have sensed them."

"Relying on that Thing to assess the threat of another demon? You must be joking."

"He's not a Thing." Helena lifts her chin and straightens, meeting Vivienne's hard gaze with her own. "Curious, caring, kind. He might not be human, but he's still a person." She squeezes his hand and breathes deep at the feeling of soft yarn. "A person who has done nothing but try to help others since joining the Inquisition."

Mages or Templars, Cole's persistence in helping others has always been true.

"That Thing," Vivienne raises an eyebrow in challenge, "has killed many. Sparing a handful of lives hardly makes it benevolent."

"No, I suppose it wouldn't." Helena takes a small step forward, forcing herself to ignore the way Vivienne's hand tenses at her side. "But what does it make you?"

"Excuse me?"

"How many people have you killed?" Helena hollows out her voice, allowing her gaze to lose focus. "Flesh turned frost, winter in her hands. One word and she'll shatter him." Helena refocuses on Vivienne, noting the way her eyes have narrowed. "But for what?"

"Do not compare me to that Thing." Helena's grip on Cole's hand tightens at the anger in her voice. "One does what one must."

"Oh, yes. A spirit kills out of defense and those deaths get labeled senseless. But you...you end a life and it's justified because you're human and he was rude to one of your guests—"

"Enough," Solas snaps.

Helena recoils at the sharp command, her gaze flitting between Solas and Vivienne as she clenches her free hand into a fist. She focuses on the way her nails cut into her palm, on the rush of adrenaline that has been flooding her. She won't think about how that reprimand stings, she won't.

Underneath the vibration of her blood, a familiar feeling is building. Helena closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, embracing the pull. She squeezes Cole's hand one more time—an apology of sorts—and opens her eyes, meeting Solas's gaze.

"Fine."

She forces herself to maintain eye contact with him until—

...

Helena's still clenching her fist when she staggers backward out of the mirror. She stares at her reflection, at the set of her jaw, until her righteous anger on Cole's behalf fades into embarrassment. The way Solas had looked at her... He looked at her like he was disappointed...like she was stupid—

She growls, kicking at the crap on her floor. Her hands shake and she wants—she just wants to break something. Anything. Everything.

"How could I have been so..."

She is supposed to be benign. Picking a fight with a mage—not just a mage, but an Arcane Warrior, a political figurehead, a member of the Inquisition's inner circle—might just have ruined any chance she had of being...of being...

She could have died.

Helena sinks to the floor, leaning against her bed.

"Goddamn it," Helena breathes, staring at her stupid, stucco ceiling.

...


	6. Apologies and Awkward Questions

"Jan?"

Helena's attention shifts to her bedroom door.  With a weary sigh, she slides her laptop down the bed and rolls to her feet, stepping over one of her many mountains of paper.

"Yes?" she drags out in her best imitation of Lurch as she opens the door.

"Try this," Jenny insists, nearly stabbing Helena in the face with her spoonful of sauce.

"What is it?" she asks, eyeing the spoon as well as she can with her eyes crossed.

"Just try it."

Helena looks down the spoon to Jenny's face.  Her skin has that almost glazed look it gets when she sleeps too long or spends an extended time in direct sunlight.  The sauce and wafting smell of pork suggest she has something in the works, but Helena struggles to remember when she returned.

"What is it?"  She couples this question with a raise of her eyebrow.

"It's salsa."  Jenny narrows her eyes.  Helena wonders if it frustrates her sometimes, her lack of fine control of her eyebrows.  "C'mon."  She waves the spoon.  Helena's gaze darts around the carpet, trying to spot any spills.

"Fine."  Helena grabs the spoon and shoves it into her mouth with a glare.

"You weren't supposed to eat the whole thing."  Jenny sighs, watching Helena pop the spoon out of her mouth.

"Not bad," Helena offers, squinting into the hallway, "but the spice pretty much burned the flavor right out of it."

Jenny shrugs and takes the spoon before turning away.  Helena frowns at her retreating back.

"Did you just give me a spoonful of chipotle pepper sauce straight from the can?" Helena calls.  She sticks out her tongue and huffs out a disgusted breath.  She really shouldn't have sucked the whole spoonful down.

Helena snags her can of Coke and, after a generous swallow, follows the sound of sizzling into the kitchen.  A quick glance into one of the pans on the stove confirms her suspicions about the pork.  The murky contents of the one beside it still scream chipotle peppers, though the various spices on the counter suggest otherwise.

"So how'd it go?" Jenny asks, stirring the sauce.

"How'd what go?"  Helena plops into one of their kitchen chairs, wincing at the responding creak.  One day, that broken leg was going to give.  She just hoped it wasn't her butt in the seat when it did.

"Did your friend like the gloves?"

"Uh...yes."  Helena clears her throat, wishing the action would also clear her blush.  "I mean, he said he did."

"Ooh!  They were for a guy?"

Helena frowns.  Why did she tell her anything?

"It's not like that."

"Sure."

Helena sighs at her tone, rubbing a hand down her face.

"I'm just messing with you."

"Yeah, I know.  It's just...I kind of got into it with some of his...friends."

"What happened?"

"They were talking shit about him."  Helena slouches further in her seat, her head tipping back with a sigh.  "Kind of."

Had Helena's interruption not derailed the conversation, they might have continued discussing her.

"You put a stop to that shit?" Jenny asks, leaning forward to adjust one of the dials.

"I sort of told them off for being shitty to him, yeah."

"Then why are you all..." Jenny gestures at her with a flap of her unoccupied hand.

"What's," Helena mimics the motion with a flap of her own hand, "this mean?"

"Don't be a butt."

"Fine.  I'm all," Helena flaps her hand again and almost grins at Jenny's responding glare, "because I shouldn't have done it.  I shouldn't have said anything."  Helena straightens in her seat only to slouch over the table, cradling her Coke between her arms.  "I think I might've made things worse."

If not for Cole, then definitely for herself.

"Oh."  Jenny taps her wooden spoon on the side of the saucepan before placing it on the counter.  Helena stares at the sauce sliding onto the counter, but meets her eyes when Jenny takes a step closer.  "That sucks."  Helena harrumphs.

"Yeah."

"Sounds like they deserved it, though."  Jenny crosses her arms.  "I hate shitty people like that."

"Yeah..."  Helena sighs.  "They aren't so bad.  They just...don't understand him."  Helena hates the words leaving her mouth.  They taste like lies.  Definitely presumption.  The insinuation that she's different, that she understands him...  That she understands him better than people who live and fight beside him, when all she has really seen are snapshots...

"Why, what's wrong with him?"  Jenny has turned back to her cooking, but the curiosity in her tone rings genuine.

"Nothing's wrong with him."  Helena can't tell Jenny about the demon issue, even if her nails itch to drag those earlier words back into her mouth.  She stares down at her Coke, sliding her thumb across the brim.  "He just has a different way of looking at things.  Some people think he's creepy."

"No wonder you like him, then."

"Ha."  Helena can practically feel Jenny's smirk sliming its way down her neck.

...

Helena circuits the room again, hopping and dodging clutter when need be.  Peripherally, she tracks her movements in the mirrors.  The glass is smooth and her heated skin insists that it will be cool.  She pauses in her latest turnabout the room to slip her fingers between the blinds shading her window.  A line of sunlight slices into her cheek and she rips her hand away.

"Why...is it so...fucking hot?" she moans, cradling her face in an attempt to leech some coolness.  She drops them almost immediately in disgust.  "Oh, now my circulation's just fine, is it?" she sneers, twirling her hair atop her head.  Her gaze slides to the mirror. 

The longer she waits, the worse it will be.  This awareness has slipped in and out of her conscious thoughts for the last day.  Absence might make their hearts grow fonder, but with her luck, it's more likely to seed suspicion.  Why hide unless she has something _to_ hide?

Helena slides her vacant hand across the back of her neck and grimaces at the moisture gathering there.  Distrustful companions aside, that Frostback Mountain air would feel amazing against her skin.  Besides, if things became too dicey the mirror would eventually yank her back.

"Unless they shot me on sight."  Her laugh is shaky.  She turns toward the mirror with a defeated sigh.  "A shame I can't control this."  Her hand hovers above the glass.  The mirror almost feels like it's reaching for her.  She blinks.  "If I could find some way to augment its power...  My power?"  Something to consider.  "But what would..."

More research on magic mirrors might prove wise.  Most of the lore screams bunk, but if she could find even a nugget of truth...  How convenient magic must be in Thedas.

"Well, apart from the death threats...Templars..."  She furrows her brow at the glass, feeling the mirror stretch toward her.  "I wonder..."  Magic in Thedas ran on Lyrium.  If she could get her hands on the stuff, she could...  "I'd probably turn into an addict like Cullen."  She frowns.  "And where the hell would I find a smuggler?"

Helena shakes those thoughts lose.  Her presence in Skyhold is precarious enough without adding magical steroids into the mix.

"Or would blood be the steroid?"  She squints, pursing her lips.  "Lyrium's a little too addictive to be an energy drink," she muses.  "Some people do get super addicted to those, though."  She coughs, thinking about her own hoard of Red Bulls.  Eric would probably compare blood magic to chopping off the legs of the competition.  "Drugging them would make more sense with that analogy, though."  Classic Eric.  She groans and swipes a hand down her face in an effort not to laugh.

Helena looks back up at the mirror with a sigh.

"No more stalling."

Her hand slips through the glass with ease.  Had it always been so easy?  She scarcely has time to suck in a breath before—

...

Helena spends a good minute huffing at the ceiling once she can manage to breathe again.  Nothing in the room screams tampering, but her skin feels a little too tight and she wonders.

Her limbs feel heavy when she heaves herself up and she almost trips on a wayward vase.  Her cursing cuts off as she listens, but once again, her presence seems to have gone unnoticed.  Well, Cole probably knows...since he can sense her comings and goings.  Apparently.  She frowns at the mix of anxiety and relief that realization elicits.

Restraining her gaze proves impossible this time.  The moment the door shuts behind her, she peers down into the courtyard and almost jumps when one of those generic Inquisition members meets her gaze.  Of course, that person lives and breathes in this world like her, so perhaps she should curb that habit of thinking of them as some background NPC.  She averts her gaze and wrenches open the tavern door, the reverberation as it shuts against her back loosens her shoulders.

Cole stands in his customary haunt, the brim of his hat tilting down to conceal his face.  Helena tries not to take the barrier between them personally.

"Hello, Cole."  Better to get it all out.  She clears her throat, stepping closer.  "I'm um.  Well.  I'm sorry for how things turned out the last time I was here."  She leaves an arm's length between them and doesn't try to peer under his hat.  "I shouldn't—"  She swallows the lump in her throat.  "I'm sorry for making things worse for you."

"It slips into thoughts.  Coiling, cloying, clutter.  Silent whispers gnawing the back of their necks.  Cole tilts his head enough to meet her gaze, the accusation she imagined absent.  "They are afraid.  Knotted memories make their tongues lash.  Pulling on their knots can help.  You wanted to help."

Helena stares down at the floor.  She wonders what kind of wood they used, if their selection of materials could even compare to back home.  Did they have oak?  Mahogany?  Did they have special Thedosian names for them?  Had that fanfic she read about Skyhold carry a nugget of truth?  Was she making the poltergeist of Skyhold self-conscious by fixating on the kind of wood that comprised its corporeal form?

Helena jerks when Cole's cool fingers curl around her arm.

"You help."

Helena swallows, the sincerity in his blue eyes almost too bright.

"I still made things harder."  Helena quirks her lips at him, humor sliding into her tone like a security blanket around her shoulders.  "Solas sure didn't look happy."  She clears her throat.  "Can you...I mean, do you know how he—"

"You could ask me yourself, rather than encourage Cole to spy."

Helena jumps at the sound of his voice, dislodging Cole's hand.

"Jesus Christ!" she spits out before she can curb her tongue.  Solas raises an eyebrow at her, stepping further from the shadows.  She would have noticed him had he been there before.  Fade-stepping?  "I wasn't...I wasn't asking him to pry into your thoughts."

"No?"  His other eyebrow joins his first.

"No."  Helena angles her body so that both Cole and Solas remain in her sight.  "What are you doing here?"

"Is that a serious question?"  Helena blinks at the familiarity of those words, watching him fold his arms.  "I am an agent of the Inquisition.  The purpose of your presence, however, is a matter of debate."

Helena swallows heavily, willing the mirror to yank her back.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fanfic mentioned in this chapter is, "The Benefit of Banging Some Bricks" by Maleficar.  
> Credit for the idea of using lyrium to augment the mirror goes to Asil_Yessam.


	7. Talk Fade To Me

Solas stares at her in silence, waiting for her to scrounge up a reason that could warrant her presence in a political and/or military stronghold. All those hours spent debating with herself over what she might say and her mind is blank.

"Tongue heavy enough to choke. Thoughts clogged with one word. Echoes until it grows numb. Why?"

Cole's voice snaps Helena out of her spiral of panic and she takes a mental deep breath.

"I don't know." The aura of challenge around Solas recedes, though his eyes still narrow. He can't catch her in a lie if she speaks the truth. "I...appeared here."

"Convenient." Skepticism fills his tone, though his closed off stance has loosened even more.

"I've never been anywhere like this before." Helena tilts her head, conscious of the innocent perplexity often associated with the gesture. Her eyes lose a little focus as she angles her gaze toward the ceiling. "I'm really not sure why I keep appearing here."

"What of Cole?"

Helena refocuses on Solas with a frown.

"What about him?"

"Your fixation with him seems to stem beyond serendipity."

"Does it?" Helena shifts her weight to her left leg, creating a little more distance. "If you found yourself in a strange place...wouldn't you gravitate toward the most compassionate person there?"

"Compassion can be found elsewhere," Solas counters after a brief pause. "Perhaps you favor the empathy he gives all too freely," she frowns at the implication, "deserving or not."

"I wouldn't mistake kindness for naivety," she replies, crossing her arms.

That, of all things, makes Solas smile.

"You are wise to acknowledge the difference."

Helena watches his arms fall, the shift of his shoulders when he clasps his hands behind his back. She cannot think of a response over the echo of his words in her head.

"The reason behind your presence here remains a mystery." Solas tilts his head forward and she is struck by the memory of the first time she interacted with him in the game. Well. Her Lavellan, anyway. "Enlighten me on another matter then--where do you go when you are not here?"

"Where I come from." The words slip out. She hopes neither her expression nor her body language betray her.

"Where might that be?"

"Most would call it another world." She swallows the hysterical laugh threatening to slip out.

"What would you call it?"

"Home, I guess?"

Solas frowns. Helena doesn't dare take her eyes off him.

"For someone with nothing to hide, you seem keen on evasion," Solas comments, angling his head back. She bristles at the inherent superiority of the gesture.

"We all have something to hide." She stands straighter, even as a distant part of her yells: _Danger, Will Robinson!_ "Don't we?"

Helena watches the frown on Solas's face deepen with an almost vindictive pleasure, while the rest of her notes the sharpening of his gaze in a detached sort of alarm. Her eyes widen when Cole slides in front of her, his gaze hooked on her own.

"Nails long, fingers nimble." He taps one of her fingers with one of his. "Digging, determined, done. Knots untangled with ease." She sucks in a breath at the way he seems to smile at her, even as the curl of his lips remains lax around his words. "Fear shakes and...pulls the wrong thread." Whatever smile she thought she could feel...fell. "The knot grows."

Helena swallows. Her hand wants to grasp his shoulder, but she stills the impulse. Cole has given her enough without more uncomfortable contact from her.

"You're right, Cole." She smiles at him and wonders at the mirror of it in his eyes. "Thank you."

Helena meets Solas's gaze when Cole flits from view. She tries not to panic over his sudden absence.

"I...owe you an apology."

Solas remains silent, but the slight widening of his eyes denotes his surprise.

"Accident or not, I'm the one intruding here." Helena looks at the floor with a rueful smile. "You've been kinder than I have any right to expect." The weight of the moment keeps her head down, but she does manage to flick her eyes to his. "I'm sorry."

Solas continues to stare back at her.

"Speaking of my home would be...difficult." Not a lie, considering the circumstances. "But I can assure you that I really don't have any nefarious intentions regarding the Inquisition or its members." She stands straighter and waves her fist. "I'm pretty firmly waving your banner over the destruction of Thedas."

Solas looks amused by the end of her speech and she tries not to feel like an earnest anime character.

"Destruction would make for a dismal banner," he notes with a wry smile.

"Most dreadful." Helena swallows against the burst of laughter that builds up in her throat.

She almost regrets the jab when his jaw hardens.

"I meant what I said." She takes a step toward him, aware of her limbs and breath in a way that attests to the tense atmosphere. "No nefarious intentions here." She waves at herself, but his gaze does not track the movement. He keeps staring into her eyes as if he can yank the truth right out of her that way. "For the Inquisition or its members. Any of them."

Solas hums in acknowledgement, rocking backward. She wonders just when he began to lean so far forward. An error in observation she would need to correct.

"Honestly, I'm surprised I haven't found myself on the wrong end of a sword." Helena sucks on her teeth, glancing upward again in case she missed a net. "Not even a glyph for a booby-trap."

"You have not felt hindered in your movements here?" Solas asks with an expression that seems a little too blank.

"No...why?" Helena's eyes widen. "Wait, do you have wards placed?" She glances around, searching for any glowing geometric shapes etched into the floorboard or walls.

"A fair few," Solas admits, but she notes the way his gaze remains fixed on her.

"Not even a clue?" she asks, nodding toward Cole's corner.

Solas just smiles.

"Now I'm even more shocked that no one's tried to stab me." Helena sighs, stuffing her hands into her pockets. Their emptiness mocks her.

"As the resident expert on matters of the Fade, I have been given leave to observe you until the Inquisitor returns." And wow, the way his smile grows just from one offhand mention of the Fade is almost adorable. A shame that she can't really pester him for stories from the Fade...considering that she is impersonating a spirit. Although...perhaps not. Differing experiences and all that.

"So you're my Judge, Jury, and Executioner?" she notes.

"Jury?"

And right, a land full of gods, kings, and dictators wouldn't exactly know a term like that, would they? Fuck.

"You know...when, um..." Helena clears her throat, rocking on her feet, "...a bunch of people discuss the...uh...Fate of someone else?"

"An arrangement akin to a council?" Solas offers and she responds with a relieved nod, mentally berating herself for her reoccurring bouts of stupidity. "I admit I have not heard that term before. From where does it originate?" Solas cradles his chin and Helena starts mentally screaming.

What a time to pique his curiosity.

"From a...memory I once encountered. I think."

"The term seems to have fallen out of use in this age," Solas notes. "The memory you witnessed must have belonged to someone long since dead." The weight of his interest, his curiosity, feels heavy in a way she hadn't expected. His lean forward shifts his jawbone necklace away from his body, coaxing her gaze down his chest in a quick flit of her eyes. Helena swallows. "Do you remember any distinct features to the speaker that might better identify their origin?" he asks with interest.

"I'm sorry." Helena frowns, for once regretting her decision to be...a liar. She allows herself to imagine being honest with Solas for a brief moment. Her frown slips further into the self-deprecating variety. "I learned that word a long time ago."

Solas nods in acceptance, but she knows he must feel disappointed.

"That is often the way with lost knowledge," Solas muses.

"You must be well-versed in that...as the resident Fade expert," Helena offers with a small smile. She turns her head, peeking at him out of the corner of her eye. "Ancient ruins, battlefields...seeing the dreams of civilizations lost..."

"Yes, exactly." Solas sounds almost delighted and Helena almost regrets plucking the words out of his mouth. Helena mentally sighs.

Might as well go for broke.

"Have you seen any griffons?"

"I have come across many lost creatures in the Fade." Helena pouts at the non-answer. "To witness such a majestic being roaming the skies today..."

"I wonder what kinds of riddles it would ask..." Helena searches her memory. "Which bridge is right, which one of us lies...the mountain doesn't bow..."

"Riddles?"

Helena stares at Solas blankly.

"Oh! Sorry, I was thinking of a sphinx!" The word reverberates in her head like the shrill buzzer of a game show.

"What is a sphinx?" Solas leans forward as if he can siphon the information through a closer proximity.

"It's this half-human, half-feline thing that guards temples." Helena coughs. "Another chimera."

Solas tilts his head and the canine flavor of the gesture delights Helena almost as much as his interest in the words pouring out of her mouth rattles her.

"Probably mythical," Helena hastens to add. "The mountain doesn't bow," she murmurs again, squinting at the ceiling. "That's not a riddle...that's Mulan!"

Helena sighs. Totally off her game today.

"Mulan?"

Helena rocks back on her feet. "O" for three.

"Mulan was a young woman who stole her father's armor and ran away from home when her country insisted he fight in a war he had little hope of surviving...weak as he was."

Helena notes the way Solas leans closer, again, and she can't resist.

"She took up her father's sword and impersonated a soldier," Helena swallows against the squeal building up her throat, "deceived her commanding officer, dishonored their country's army...destroyed the emperor's palace...and," Helena can feel her grin grow triumphant, "...she saved them all."

"Quite the heroic tale," Solas comments with a smile, his torso still angled toward her.

"Yes," Helena matches his smile with one of her own. "One of my favorites."

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm awful, I've started posting an AU of this story.  
> Even though I've barely scratched the surface of this one.
> 
> I did mention I was awful, yes?
> 
> Anyway, Helena is quite a bit more...unhinged in the AU.  
> For a plethora of reasons that will become clear as the story goes on.  
> So check that out if you're so inclined.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Banal nadas? No. Some things are.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4632693) by [Miss_Snazzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Snazzy/pseuds/Miss_Snazzy)




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